A little drabble based on 4x6
by patsypatsypatsy
Summary: I posted this on tumblr a while back, but I've finally decided to join these sites because I want to start writing longer (and better!) Patsy and Delia fics. They're just my favourite couple ever and they mean so much to me lol. Any feedback would be really appreciated xx


Patsy can feel the lump in the back of her throat, which threatens to spill over into a sob that will break her, as Delia's fingers slip away from hers and she watches her head down the pavement without a backwards glance. Patsy leans back against the cool of the wall behind her, fumbles in her bag, lights a cigarette. She can't even take a drag without her lower lip beginning to tremble with a shuddering breath which seems set to give her away. By the time she's grinding the butt of her third into the ground with the point of her shoe, she's filled with anguish and a fiery anger that contrasts unsettlingly against her usually cool temperament. Her walk to the Nurses' Home is hurried and she knows that unlike her usual demeanour, she's struggling to keep it together on the outside. But she's had a rotten day, and this evening was the cherry on the metaphorical cake. It wasn't that she was angry at Delia. She smiled a bit at that thought. She didn't think she could ever truly be angry at Delia. Frustrated yes, that sometimes she felt Delia just didn't grasp the reality of their relationship, didn't realise just how much they had lose, just how much Patsy had to lose. Frustration however, was different to anger. Patsy was angry because years of repressing her feelings was beginning to boil over, they were bubbling to the surface, and she was just plain sick of having to hide them anyway. When she'd been a small girl of eight or nine, before the camp, her mother had tucked her into bed one night, stroking her hair just as Delia did now, and told her that love, _real love,_ was something to be loud about. As soon as Patsy had realised just how right she was, she had already started to get tired of being quiet. She forgets decorum when she reaches Delia's door, marches through it without so much as a knock, and startles her again. Patsy's heart catches in her mouth for a second, as Delia turns around from her dresser, just finishing brushing out her hair. _You're so beautiful._ Before the tears can come however, because God knows Patsy's done enough crying over this, she strides across the room. Delia stands up, hurt and confusion obvious on her face, and Patsy can tell that she _has_ been crying. She's about to try to explain herself, when she remembers that she's never been very good with words around pretty girls. She tends to mumble and stutter and fiddle with her hands, and she's sure she never quite says the things she wants, and anyway, they've done enough talking today. She doesn't have anything left to say, except this. She cups the cool of her palm around Delia's cheek as softly as always, but there's an urgency in her movements and she doesn't try to pretend that this is the same. When her lips brush against Delia's, they don't stop there. Delia, for her part, doesn't stop either, and she sighs into the kiss, emotions spilling out of her, silently begging Patsy to pull her closer, to grip her waist tighter. Patsy's fingers are leaving marks in the space between the pyjama bottoms and top she hastily flung on when she got back, her yellow dress from earlier a pile on the floor that she wanted forgotten. She doesn't want to forget this though. She pulls Patsy's coat from her shoulders without breaking their kiss and allows herself to be pushed back against the top of the dresser. When Patsy begins her assault on the arc of visible skin her pyjama top allows, she whispers her name. Patsy's kisses move from her collarbones up the sides of her neck, and back up to her lips, leaving a trail of red smudges in her wake. Her beehive's coming undone and Delia doesn't think she's ever seen her look more raw. They've always been more cautious than this before. Delia's always locked the door for a start, and anyway, it's always been Patsy who pulls away, who keeps their kisses chaste, who reminds her about the walls being thin, that she shouldn't even be there after curfew, that she'll be missed at Nonnatus if she doesn't hurry. Delia realises though, that as she's sitting atop her dresser with her legs around Patsy's waist and her hands up in her hair, that's shedding kirby grips onto the floor that Patsy isn't thinking like that this time. There's a desperation in her eyes and her mouth is pressed to that spot in the crook of Delia's neck and she's doing that _thing_ with her teeth and Delia can't think straight. By the time they pause to look at each other, eyes wide, blouses open a few buttons and chests flushed, palms sweaty and with kiss swollen lips, Delia knows what's coming. She watches the emotion come tumbling up and out of Patsy and she's happy that they didn't go further. They've been waiting so long, and this wouldn't be the time. Not when they're so wound up and they've been fighting and Patsy quite clearly can't keep herself together. So she sits with her instead, the bed sagging in the middle because of the amount of times they've sat in that exact same spot, on dozens and dozens of different evenings, and Patsy falls apart in her arms and chokes out that she loves her, that she's so in love with her, that she wants to marry her more than she even wants to breathe. And Delia berates herself for making her cry, even though she knows it wasn't really her at all. It doesn't really matter though, because as they sit close together, arms tight round each other on Delia's small bed, she pulls Patsy back towards her, with forehead kisses and strokes of her hair, and she knows, like she's known for years now, that whatever she says, they _will_ find a way to be together. _'You're all I've ever wanted'_ , she whispers into her the scent of her shampoo, and it's enough, she tells herself. It's already so much more than she ever dreamed. _'Cariad'._


End file.
